


Indeterminate Form

by onvavoir



Series: Teumessian Fox [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two people can only keep secrets from each other for so long. Especially when those two people are superheroes.</p><p>Takes place a few weeks after "Haunted."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indeterminate Form

**Author's Note:**

> (I know that technically Bucky isn't a 'hero' but give him time-- also, I went with the 'drafted' idea, since MCU information contradicts itself.)

It's been a hard night. His body aches, all over and in specific places. His shoulder twinges, which makes him worry he's injured his rotator cuff, whatever that is exactly. Claire warned him about it, and as usual, she was right. He tongues the split in his lower lip and smells his own blood, his own sweat. He steps back to let the skinhead scuttle away. Stows his clubs in their holster. He's about to call it a night when he hears the percussion of fists and feet. 

He leaps up to the fire escape, swings onto the roof, and darts across several buildings. A group of pigeons flutters up from their roost as he blows past them. Two streets over, in a parking garage, five men attacking a sixth. Fast and hard blows, and something else-- a whir of machinery.

Bucky.

Matt's sure that Bucky can handle himself, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't be there for backup. That, and he wants to know why these men, who fight like professionals with intensive combat training are attacking Bucky.

The past few weeks, he's resisted the urge to look for information despite the gnawing at the corners of his mind. A bionic arm is pretty distinctive, and he knows he could find out more with relative ease. But it feels like a renege somehow, a break in their agreement not to ask each other about their broken bodies. Bucky's been to his place a couple more times. He has nightmares, wakes up screaming. Matt wants to help him, but he knows too well that Bucky will refuse and close down.

He vaults over a concrete wall and steps out from between two cars. Most fights are someone taking on one or two people. This is actually five men attacking Bucky at one time. One has an arm around his throat, but Bucky reaches up with the bionic arm and throws him, literally throws him, twenty feet away into the windshield of a vehicle. In the process he knocks down a second, kicks a third, while the last man draws a backup firearm from a side holster. Matt flings a baton at the back of his head. It bounces off, and the guy drops. Bucky delivers a knee to the chest of the other and knocks him backwards.

What strikes Matt is not just the fight itself and the manpower sent after one guy-- it's the relentless intensity Bucky fights with. He never stops, not until the five of them are scattered, and then he deals with them one by one. It's terrifying. Being aware that someone has depths of rage and violence is one thing, but the brutality he fights with is something else. With four men unconscious, the fifth draws a knife from his boot. Bucky catches it in mid-air, flips it, and strides towards the fifth man with it.

"No!" Matt says.

He freezes. Man number five takes the opportunity to bolt, and Bucky turns. The knife is still in his hand. Matt's pretty sure he could evade it if Bucky threw it, but he'd rather not find out. He holsters the sticks.

"I don't want to fight you," Matt says. 

"Then don't."

"What did they want with you?" Matt asks. "Who do they work for?"

Bucky hasn't put away the knife. Nonetheless, Matt edges forward, trying to figure out a way to de-escalate the aggression. He can't very well tell Bucky it's him, at least not with witnesses around, but what reason does Bucky have to trust a mysterious man in a mask? Bucky turns to walk away. 

"Bucky--"

He stops. When he turns and looks at Matt, the mechanical tension in his body eases.

"How do you know my name?" 

Matt picks up on the slightest emphasis-- how do _you_ know my name-- as if maybe it's a well-guarded secret. The knife neatly slips into a pocket. Before Matt can answer, Bucky strides away. He resists the temptation to follow, and not just out of consideration. On another night, less exhausted, he might have pursued, but all the training in the world wouldn't undo internal injuries from a well-aimed metal fist. 

He makes his way back up to the rooftops and moves towards his apartment, ears open. The streets are quiet, thank god. He lands silently on a fire escape and pauses to listen to someone's radio three blocks away.

"-- Landman and Zack will be bringing a civil suit against the organisation formerly known as SHIELD for millions of dollars in property damage caused by last year's attacks in Washington, which they say could have been prevented--" 

His breath leaves him. 

One of Foggy's last tasks for Landman and Zack was compiling reports of what happened in DC. He'd griped about it and the mountain of papers and documents he had to sift through just for one particular event. The only plus, he'd said, was getting to read about Captain America kicking ass. He'd read aloud a particularly juicy passage from one eyewitness report, about the assassin referred to in SHIELD and Hydra documents as "the asset." The one with the metal arm.

It all falls together now, and Matt could kick himself for not putting it together in the first place. Maybe he didn't want to. He mulls it over as he approaches his apartment. The two of them have no communication outside of coming across each other at the bar. He doesn't know how to find Bucky, and he doesn't know what he'd do if he did. Call the police? Captain America? He's so caught up in thinking about it that he almost doesn't realise someone is in his apartment. 

He walks down the stairs from the roof, silent as a shadow, until he's sure by scent who it is. Then he makes sure Bucky can hear him coming down into the living room. Bucky is still and silent on the sofa. Matt sits across from him, rolls his head around on his neck. The popping is like a rifle report in his head. He rests his elbows on his knees.

"You're Daredevil," Bucky murmurs.

Matt sighs.

"Yeah."

"But you're blind."

"In more ways than one."

He's too exhausted to go into it. He'll tell Bucky the whole story if he asks, but right now what's taking up space in his head is how to reconcile the man he knows with the person who destroyed half of Washington DC. His body was never found, but SHIELD-- or what's left of it-- claims he was killed when the third helicarrier went down.

"Did you come here to talk, or to kill me?" Bucky's heartbeat spikes, and Matt hears his jaw clench. "Sorry."

Still Bucky says nothing. He doesn't get up or make any move, just sits there on Matt's sofa like a sad statue.

"Bucky... who are you? Are you a-- a soldier?"

"My name is James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky says, robotically, like he's reciting it from memory. "32557038."

Matt can tell by the change in his breathing that he's holding back tears. Whatever's happened to him, whatever military training or trauma made him like this, it's beyond Matt's ability to help. He suspects it's also beyond the scope of the local VA hospital.

"You're from Brooklyn."

Bucky raises his head, and Matt offers what he thinks might be a slight smile. It feels more like a grimace.

"You don't know what I've done."

"Right now I don't care." He licks his lips, trace of blood. "I just want to know who you are."

Across from him, Bucky inhales and then breathes out a ragged sigh.

"I don't know anymore."

Matt's throat tightens. "Let me help you."

"You can't help me."

The broken tone of his voice, the defeat in it, strikes Matt to his core. Whatever happened, this man can't be the same person who left DC in ruins. He just can't be.

"What do we do then?"

The denim rustles as Bucky shrugs. It must obvious that he doesn't plan to turn Bucky in. He doesn't think Bucky would be here otherwise. He wants to say that he can help, that he's a lawyer, he could defend Bucky, if it came to that. But if Bucky and his arm are some sort of military secret, there's no telling what sort of force might be called down. He's not naive enough to think the government wouldn't take Bucky out to protect themselves.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?"

"No. It's too dangerous. They'll be looking for me."

Matt chuckles. "I don't know if you noticed, but I can take care of myself."

"Is that why you've got so many knife cuts?"

"Touché."

Bucky stands, his arm clicking.

"I have to go."

Matt sidesteps to block him, keenly aware of how badly this could turn out. He can hear the tightening of muscle and tendon, a joint popping. The hand closes with the sound of ball bearings dropped on a bare floor.

Matt undoes the fastening of his helmet and takes it off, drops it.

"Please."

His heart punches its way into his throat as he steps forward. For the first time he genuinely understands how awful it is to care about someone like himself. It's no wonder Claire's heart always speeds up a little as he says goodbye.

Matt pulls off his gloves and drops them, reaches out to Bucky with bare hands. Beneath the fabric of his shirt and jacket, Bucky's heart is throwing itself against his ribcage. Matt's hand finds it and rests there. He looks up at the vicinity of Bucky's face. Some of the steel in him softens.

When he's absolutely sure that Bucky won't freak out, he takes another step forward. Both hands climb to Bucky's shoulders. Fingertips touch the stubble on his throat. Matt tips his head and kisses him. A breath heaves Bucky's shoulders and leaves him trembling. His lips respond to Matt's, hesitantly, then stronger. His right arm comes up to circle Matt's waist.

The kissing is good, slow and heated, and the weight of Bucky's arms--both of them--comforts Matt. He lets Bucky lead, takes his cues from the touch of tongue and fingertips.

"I can't stay here," Bucky whispers against his lips.

"You think I'm gonna let you leave?"

A trace of a laugh.

"I'm pretty tough, you know," Matt says, grinning a little between kisses. "I'll fight you if y--"

Bucky lifts him easily, cradling Matt with his metal arm. It is a sensation he's definitely never had before, being bodily picked up by a partner. The arm hums a little under his ass, a vibration that most people would hardly notice. It makes Matt's mouth go dry. He has a second of hope that Bucky might just throw him over his shoulder and carry him to bed, but instead Bucky sets him down. Matt catches his mouth as he straightens up. He threads his fingers through Bucky's hair and presses against him, as if he might keep Bucky there by sheer physical contact. He slides his hands up under Bucky's shirt and splays them across his back. He's made of fire, and it's torture being able to sense how much he wants to stay-- and how afraid he is of doing it.

"Please," Matt whispers, filling Bucky's silence with his own voice. "Just come to bed, and we'll figure it out in the morning. Just come to bed."

He repeats it, softly, until Bucky places warm fingers against his mouth to silence it. Matt presses his lips to them, closes his eyes.


End file.
